How to Love a Princess (23 page)

“That sounds normal,
darling.”

Catherine blinked back a
sudden tear. “I feel as if I’m betraying Nicolas. He has so much faith in us
and, as much as I’m trying, if I truly loved him enough, should I not have that
same blind faith, no matter what?”

After a long minute of
watching her daughter thoughtfully, Helene said, “Yet you’re still determined
to marry him?” When Catherine nodded, she added softly, “Then it would seem you
have more faith than you think. Every new bride frets about the future, wonders
if she’s making the right choice, Catherine, and you have more cause than most.
If it helps, I don’t think you could make a better choice than Nicolas, and not
just for a husband.”

“You’re right.” Catherine
wiped at her eyes and set her shoulders back. She loved Nicolas so much. She’d
given him up once and couldn’t go through that again. She’d make this work, put
away the ghosts of her father and grandfather and great-grandfather, and ensure
that she and Nicolas carved their own future. “Ophella has already embraced
Nicolas and he will make a wonderful father. As stubborn as he is, Nicolas will
never allow anything to come between him and his family.”

“Be that as it may,”
Helene said carefully, “Nicolas might have more to offer.”

Catherine’s brow went up.
But she was smiling. This talk with her mother had helped. How could she doubt
Nicolas? Their marriage would be complicated, but he’d never stop loving her
and he’d never leave her or their children. “More to offer?”

Helene sighed, turning her
head to look out the window as she contemplated her thoughts.

“Mother.” Catherine
touched her arm, drawing her attention back into the room. “What is it?”

Her mother looked at her, the
smile gone, her eyes a distant blue. “Nicolas Vecca would make a fine king,”
she said at last.

“No.” Catherine jumped to
her feet, instantly charged with a hundred different emotions. How could her
mother even suggest this? And what if it could become a reality? No, she
couldn’t put her hopes on a false dream. “No, I won’t do that to him. Not after
what happened with grandfather.”

“My mother should never
have called for the sovereign right of vote.”

Catherine shook her head
resolutely. The sovereign vote allowed the royal house to call for a change in
traditional laws. More specifically in this case, elevating the queen’s husband
to king. They would be equals. But her grandfather had failed to obtain the
ninety-five percent majority required and his pride had never recovered from
it. “What about father? You never tried to make him king.”

Helene closed her eyes for
a moment.

To hide the pain,
Catherine knew, and a frisson of fear cooled her veins. Faith. Trust.
I have
to believe Nicolas and I will survive anything with the power of our love. I do
believe it.

“Darling, your father
would never have been accepted. Nicolas Vecca, however, seems to have been
elected as worthy in his own right, if one can believe everything the
newspapers spews.”

True. So very true.

“I don’t know.” And why
not? Her mother was right. If any man stood a chance to gain the people’s vote,
it was Nicolas.

“Maybe…” The dream of her
husband ruling at her side, the dream of never having her worst fear realised
one day, the dream that she’d not have the power to crush Nicolas in any way,
however indestructible he’d proved to be, grew and grew.

“Maybe,” Catherine
finished her tumbled thoughts, “when the time comes.”

Helene leaned forward,
reaching out to her daughter with an intense gaze filled with a mother’s pride
and concern. “That may be sooner than you’d like, darling.”

Nicolas handed his coat to
Serge as he stepped through the front door, his gaze scanning the landing. His
breath caught at the elegant woman standing there, holding onto the barrier
with both hands for a timeless moment. A strange déjà vu premonition sent a
shiver down his spine and he was afraid to move his eyes from Catherine, lest
the vision disappear, lest he find the last couple of months nothing more than
a twisted dream about to turn into a nightmare.

But she was moving,
descending the left branch of the stair, so gracefully, reminding him of the
swans on the Serpentine back in London. In the minutes it took for his vision
to adjust to the indoor dimness, his heart seemed to stop beating, an eerie
quietness folded around him and the air felt almost too heavy to breathe in.

Then she was running,
flying across the hallway, those sapphire blue eyes shimmering, that stubborn
chin lifted high and softened with a welcome smile.

Catherine. It was real.
He’d found her and he’d never lose her again. He opened his arms as she threw
herself at him, heedless of Serge’s sternly raised brow, ignoring the two maids
giggling in the shadows.

“Catherine
, cucciola
,”
he murmured into her hair, holding her tightly to his chest. “For an insane
moment there, I thought…”

Catherine lifted her head
to look in his eyes, pressing her hand to his chest. “Thought what?”

He shook his head,
smiling. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. His London research team had
been quite amused at his sunny temperament, to say the least. “Nothing,
dolce
cuore.
I missed you.”

“Your heart is beating so
fast.” Her eyes twinkled a vibrant blue on her smile. She spoke in a low voice,
for his ears only. “As if you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“No.” He chuckled, setting
her apart from him. “Just the woman I love.”

“Just?”

He grabbed her hand and
led her across the hallway, into the Billiard room and away from prying eyes as
he tapped the door closed behind them. “I would elaborate on that simple word,
but apparently my heart speaks for me.” He turned his gaze on her as they
walked. “It has this way of dominating the conversation whenever I’m near you.”

“Oh, Nicolas.” Her eyes
met his, radiating warmth and love. “I’ve missed you so. I love you.”

He tugged her close to the
fire raging in the enormous hearth and went down on one knee. He’d meant to
wait until later, but he couldn’t live another minute without knowing if she’d
be his forever, hearing the words from her mouth. Suddenly nervous, he fumbled
in the tight front pocket of his denims, his fingers digging around the elusive
ring. All the while, he looked into her eyes and saw his answer. The tension
left his shoulders, the nervousness abated and his fingers closed around the
ring.

“Catherine, will you marry
me?” he said gruffly, lifting her hand in his.

“Yes, Nicolas.” She
dropped down to her knees before him, tears brightening her eyes, love and joy
spilling from her heart. “Yes, I will.”

 
“I love you, Catherine. I am yours. You are mine. Nothing will
part us…”
This time.

Catherine swallowed with
difficulty at the words he left unspoken. Everything inside her cried out to
him, begging his forgiveness for breaking his trust before, vowing to spend the
rest of her life making it up to him, but her throat choked up as full
realisation took her by force. He was giving himself to her, putting his heart
into her hands, holding back nothing, second time around after a disastrous
first round with absolutely no hesitation.

“Nothing!” she swore
vehemently, then noticed the ring he was slipping onto her finger. The sapphire
solitaire she’d removed so painfully once before. “Where—how?”

“I couldn’t bear to part
with it,” he said, pulling her into his chest as he rose, kissing her deeply,
holding her close, loving her with his touch. Too soon, he released her lips to
look in her eyes. “Catherine, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“That sounds ominous,” she
said lightly, but his serious tone clutched at her gut. She crossed to the bar
to pour drinks, whiskey for Nicolas, orange juice for herself. Her fingers
trembled, but nothing, absolutely nothing would come between them. No matter
what he had to say.

“I’ll start with the good
news then.” Nicolas followed her to the bar. “The CIA arrested Harvey Talacon
this morning.”

Catherine spun about,
sloshing the juice from her glass. Eyes wide, she spurted, “Arrested him? For
what?”

Gently taking the glass
from her shaky hands as he guided her to the closest stool, Nicolas replied,
“They’re investigating certain shady dealings he has with what we might call
unfriendly countries. They’ve also connected him to three missing persons
accounts over the last seven years. He was arrested for fraud, something to do
with a failed takeover last year, but that’s just the bait to keep him close
until they can convict him for a whole lot worse.” He paused to exchange the
glass of juice for his whiskey and took a large sip. “I’ve asked them to look
into the murder of your brothers, Catherine.”

“I hope they bring him
down,” Catherine said tightly, then frowned. “
You
asked them?”

He grimaced. “That would
be the bad news. I used some of my contacts at the American Research Institute
to ask questions about the mines.” He threw back the rest of the whiskey before
pulling a stool close to hers. His dark gaze brimmed with uncertainty and guilt
as he perched on the stool and met her eyes again. “I know about the radical
energy source, Catherine. I know why it’s so important.”

“Oh.”

Such as small word. Such a
significant word. Nicolas took a deep breath. “I realise you might consider it
spying, going behind your back. Damn, okay, that’s exactly what I did. Maybe I
should have told you this before—”

“Before you proposed?”
Catherine cut in softly.

He could only look at her.
He hadn’t planned the order of this evening’s events—the events had overtaken
him. When he saw her mouth tilt at one side, he felt his heart tilting with it.
“I won’t apologise, because I’d do it again given the choice. I had
to
know, Catherine, but only to help you and Ophella.”

Catherine put a finger to
his lips, hushing him. “I’m not angry. You have the right to use whatever
avenues are open to you. I’d rather you use that power to challenge me than
give up.”

In that moment, Catherine
knew something else. She’d never defeat Nicolas, never trample on his pride,
because that was only possible if a person allowed it and Nicolas never would.
He’d never stand down and he’d never fight her. He’d fight with her, even if it
seemed as if they were on opposite sides, and he wouldn’t stop until right had
won, regardless of which of them was the victor.

“Do you understand the
consequences of shutting down production now?” she asked, sliding her finger
from his lips to the curve of his jaw. “America would never allow it. They’d
bring their army in and take control of the mines.”

“And Russia wouldn’t be
far behind,” Nicolas concluded. “If we find widespread contamination, however,
I’ll take on both countries.”

“If…” Catherine bit her
lower lip, praying it would never come to that, knowing she’d be right behind
Nicolas if it did.

“Meanwhile,” Nicolas said,
grinning easily now, “I decided we might as well put these powerful contracts
to some good use. I have contacts at the Pentagon—”

“Of course you do,”
Catherine said cheekily.

His grin went lopsided.
“And they weren’t pleased to hear that a certain Harvey Talacon had an unseemly
interest in
their
mines.”

“So that’s why they went
after him.”

Nicolas nodded. “It’s
called using all your resources to their full potential.”

Catherine chuckled at his
boasting, then quietened. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,
cucciola.
”
He covered her hand with his, pressing it to his jaw. “Your family is mine now.
No one hurts my family and gets away with it.”

“I don’t know what I’ve
ever done to deserve you.” A tide of emotion swelled at her breast and she had
to take a moment before continuing. “Ophella already thinks you a hero and they
don’t know the half of it.

“I’m no hero,” he said
quickly, shaking his head, then added jokingly, “I’m merely a man in love with
a princess.”

“Speaking of which…”
Catherine tugged her hand free to twine her fingers in her lap. There was no
better time than now to say it, but she wasn’t sure how to start. “How would
you feel about being king?”

His brow shot up. “King?”

“There’s this vote, known
as the sovereign vote. If I call for a national referendum and we get up of
ninety-five percent of the votes in favour, we can override the traditional law
that prevents you from becoming king once we’re married.”

“No.” Nicolas pushed off
the chair and strode to the fireplace. Once there, he turned sharply. “I don’t
want to rule Ophella. I’ve never wanted that.”

“Neither did I,” Catherine
murmured. Nevertheless, her voice carried across the empty room and brought
Nicolas striding back to her.

“You’ll make a wonderful
queen one day. You were born to it. Raised for it. Ophella doesn’t need or want
a king.”